Written for the NFA "We do not belong together". This is craf!fic - it's meant to be silly. Spoilers for Broken Bird and the end of season 5.

I want to break free

Jimmy took a deep breath and rehearsed his speech in his head again. It wasn't a long speech but it was imperative that he got it right. For once in his life, he wanted no misunderstanding – he could no longer work with his mentor.

"You're here early, Mr Palmer," said Ducky in surprise.

Jimmy jumped and his mind went blank. Every version of his tidy little speech scattered to the winds.

"Something wrong Mr Palmer?"

"Um, er." Jimmy cursed himself: moments ago he was sure he would appear authoritative – or at least sane, now he was going to be lucky to get out of this with a 'slightly disturbed' stamp on his CV.

"Well, spit it out, we haven't got all day."

"Ican'tworkhereanymore," Jimmy blurted in one long word.

Ducky tilted his head to one side questioningly. "Would you mind repeating that?"

Jimmy drew a deep steadying breath and tried again, forming each word distinctly. "I…can't…work…here…anymore."

"Oh," said Ducky emotionlessly.

Jimmy cracked under the pressure. "It's not that I don't like working here or that I don't like you or that I mind the incessant long rambling pointless stories or taking the blame for your complete lack of direction…"

"Nice to know it isn't personal then..."

"It's just that….well…you killed someone sir: intentionally killed someone."

"Oh, Jimmy my boy," said Ducky sadly. "Please don't judge me too harshly. That was three decades ago: I was young and foolish and, at the time, it seemed like the only humane course of action …"

"No," Jimmy cut him off. "You don't understand: you were the last one."

"Sorry?"

"Gahh!" Jimmy cried in frustration. "You just don't get it, none of you get it."

Showing infinite patience, Ducky hung his hat and coat, sat at his desk and motioned Palmer to take a seat next to him.

"Why don't you explain it to me?"

Jimmy bounced into the proffered seat and tried to gather his wayward thoughts into one cohesive, coherent message. "I just wanted to fit in and I don't," he said finally.

"And in what way do you not fit in?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?"

"Tell me what you think?"

"Is that you or the Pysch Masters talking….sorry, I'm just…sorry."

"It's ok. I want to understand. Why don't you explain it to me from the beginning?"

Jimmy looked up at the kindly old man and decided this was probably the only way he could explain the magnitude of the problem – from the beginning.

"Well, it sort of started when Special Agent McGee killed that police officer."

"Yes, yes I remember – terrible thing,"

"But still a kill," Jimmy pointed out. "Then Tony says he killed people when he was a cop and Kate pointed out that she killed some guy at a local swimming pool as a cop-assisted suicide."

"Yes…" Ducky prompted, uncertain of where this was going.

"Well – it's just everyone is killing someone. McGee, Tony, Kate, Ziva's killed so many people she's down to her own family and I'm sure Abby has…"

"There was no forensic evidence, go on."

Jimmy frowned at Ducky momentarily and then continued. "Director Sheppard killed people in her final shootout, ex-Special Agent Franks guns down anyone he doesn't like, even my girlfriend took out a couple of people before Agent Gibbs added her to his personal tally. You were my last hope."

"Last hope of what?"

"Of being normal. Up to that point I thought pretty much everyone who worked in this building killed people – except for you and me. Now I find you killed someone 30 years ago and I finally realised that it's just me: I don't fit in."

A beatific smile spread over Ducky's face. "Oh, Jimmy my boy. Is that all that's worrying you?"

"Well….yeah ….I guess."

"Oh well, let me put your mind at ease."

"How so?"

"It's well known that pronouncing someone dead is more of an art than a science."

"It is?"

"Oh good Lord, yes. You'd be amazed at how many times people are certified dead and then found to be very much alive."

"You've done this?"

"Yes, more times than I can count. Why only the other day, I declared a bird in my house dead: placed the poor wee creature in a cardboard box coffin and everything. Yes, by the time we were ready to bury it, I took one last look at it and it flew away."

"So you're saying…what?"

"What I am saying my dear boy is that M.E.s make mistakes all the time and every time you cut into a 'body' you run the very real risk that it is, in fact, alive. You may have killed many innocent people by now and not even realise it."

Jimmy considered this, but then sighed. "But it's not really the same as an actual kill is it? I mean the part when you know they are alive and you take the life from them."

"Well, no I suppose not."

They both looked up as the autopsy doors swished open. Gibbs strode in the door and shot them a quizzical look. "What's up Duck?"

Jimmy looked down guiltily and pretended to be inordinately interested in a random piece of paper he found on the desk.

"Oh, Mr Palmer here is just having a crisis of confidence – feels he doesn't belong here."

Gibbs' shoulders sagged. "Not you too, Palmer?"

Jimmy cringed at the accusation.

"What don't I know?" Ducky directed his question to Gibbs.

"There's a line at the Directors office. I've even started fielding them myself: no one fits in, they all need to 'move on'. Ever since they announced that blasted spin off, every ex Navy seal and undercover expert wants to be released. Now, clearly, someone thinks they are going to need an M.E…"

"What have you got to say for yourself, Mr Palmer?"

Jimmy straightened. "Well, it's just that I've been an assistant ME studying a medical degree for what seems like forever. The way things are going I can't see any way I'm ever going to graduate unless I get a different work environment. I mean, what do I have to do to be a permanent member of this place? The Directors turn up with almost no notice and go straight to the credits while I'm slogging it out here with absolutely no recognition. This spin off could be my one chance to be more than 'Ducky's straight man'."

Ducky sighed. "Yes, well I do see your point. We were all young once. It is difficult when you get typecast – took me years to shake off my Russian spy image. Perhaps you can take some time off to give it a try. I mean, it's not as if you are permanent staff here – you're more 'reoccurring'."

"You mean it?"

"Of course."

Jimmy bounded from the chair. "Thanks, Dr Mallard. I'll make you proud."

"And if not, I'll see you Monday."